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PIGEONS OF ST. MARK'S 

By 
Louise Edgar Peters 



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PIGEONS OF ST. MARK'S 



By 



LOUISE EDGAR PETERS 




FELLOWSHIP PRESS SERVICE, 31 ST. MARKS PLACE. NEW YORK. N. Y. 

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Cop\)right 1922 
hy Louise Edgar Peters 



DEC -4 '22 



C1A692210 



FOREWORD BY THE AUTHOR 

This little book is an attempt to put into words 
what I see as the solution of the problem of religion 
and religious knowledge, especially in its relation to 
science and scientific k^^owledge. Those who un- 
derstand something of the laws of the subconscious 
and the nature and function of poetr'y will know why 
I have been obliged to express this solution in verse. 

Louise Edgar Peters 



^ 



Pigeons of St. Mark's 



PIGEONS OF ST. MARK'S 

UP, up from the great throbbing city's life 
You rise and soar. 
None of its sharp, uncouth, self-centered strife. 
Nor senseless roar 

Can reach you as self-poised you float in higher 
rhythmic law. 

Steady and calm you hold the place you've won 
By upward surge. 

Swinging and iridescent, charms us on 
Your flight's swift urge. 

Contagion supersensuous ! Our divinities, unique, 
emerge 

And soar as you have soared in vision rapt. 

Articulate, 

Only to fall. Alas! To fly not apt. 

Our heaven gate 

Leads by slow steps and long laborious wait 

With faces altar turned — but now no more 

In fear or gloom. 

We failed to grasp thy birds, O Truth, yet tore 

Some feathers. Bloom 

Celestial ! Omen of our dear transcendent doom. 



Pigeons of St. Mark's 



THE GOOD SHIP PARADISE 

'T'HE ocean lies with open arms, 
* The ocean knows and waits. 
The chattering streams Hke homing flocks 
Trip through her silent gates. 
For the tide draws out with compelhng force 
In their dark unconscious deeps, 
Though the fickle wind Hke a wayward sprite 
Its vain resistance keeps. 

So it's On waters, Out waters. 

Back to your mother's breast: 

For it's drop to drop and it's heart to heart 

And it's birdhngs to their nest. 

A stately squadron of tall ships 

Is headed for the sea : 

But some are caught in the brush on shore 

And some are sailing free, 

And some have chosen to anchor where 

The water is sweet and cool, 

And the tide has gone and left them shut 

In a tiny, lifeless pool. 

For there's on ships and halt ships 

And there's caught in the land sprung snares; 



Pigeons of St Mark's 



But it*s sail, if you sail, with the pilot moon 
Or it*s dry dock for repairs. 

One quaint ship called the Paradise 

Is keeping near the wind. 

She forges forth in the van alone 

While the sluggards lag behind. 

Her sailors are young and keen and bold. 

Her helmsman steers her true 

And her orders come by wireless straight 

To the captain and the crew. 

So it*s Hey, sailors! Ho, sailors! 

Steer for the open sea. 

You've a stout old hulk of sufficient bulk, 

And her rudder's swinging free. 

The Admiral sits at his desk, on board 

The flag ship far ahead. 

He speaks to his men and they hear him call. 

Save those who are deaf or dead. 

And those who are lost in the fog of doubt 

Where illusive voices lure. 

But the helmsman who knows his Master's voice 

Holds his rudder firm and sure. 

So it's Hark, helmsmen! List, helmsmen! 

Don't you hear your Master call? 

Then steer to the sound of Heaven's Hound 

Be it schooner, yacht or yawl. 



Pigeons of St. Mark's 



BEHIND THE ALTAR 

117E*VE built a home for you behind the altar. 
^^ Will you not come and dwell with us O Lord? 
If you do not like our house we shall not falter; 
We will wreck it at your pleasure 
And rebuild it to your measure 
From its cellar to its summit board on board. 

But we heard you left directions how to build it 
And we've followed them, if so we understood. 
We've dug a cellar deep in truth and filled it 
V/ith the furnace of man's love 
That warms all the rooms above, 
And we've made the frame of planks of service- 
wood, — 

Then one upon another laid our duties 

In a ladder-stairway climbing round on round. 

And we've packed the rooms with all art's praying 

beauties 
That hang or stand or swing 
So that every lovely thing 
That speaks to man of God may there be found. 



Pigeons of St. Mark's 



We cut the windows facing each direction 

That we might hear the truth that all men say 

And learn the law of your sublime perfection 

Which unites in East and West 

And in North and South what's best, 

As all colors blend to make the light of day. 

And at the very top we built an attic 

With a sliding window open to the sky. 

An arrangement of our own and symptomatic 

Of our still, subconscious pleading 

For some clear, convincing leading. 

Straight and steady as the birds see when they fly. 

Now can you think, O Christ, this home is fitted 

To house your spirit, lofty and divine? 

Or do you find some vital thing omitted ? 

In your most heavenly grace 

O let us see your face. 

That hides beneath the bread and in the wine. 



8 Pigeons of St. Mark's 



MY DREAM 

¥ HAD a dream. I dreamed I stood 

* On the smooth verge of a steep precipice. 

Behind — a wood, enticing fair. 

Beneath — a gulf of great abysmal space. 

I could not to the wood, Alas ! 

I knew too well the horrors therein hid. 

That yawning gulf I knew not yet. 

And fain would fling myself into its depths 

If there I might find peace or death. 

O Peace ! O Death ! Are ye then so far off 

Or sleeping now or deaf or cruel 

That ye come not when I do call you so? 

O Power that ever urgest me on. 

Why may I not forever clinging here 

Escape from worse? Why must I on 

To unknown woe and fiercer strife? 

Is there no end to sin or pain or time? 

O dull and blinded mortal eyes 

That seeing see not clearly nor perceive! 

O hard and crooked mortal hearts 

That in your pride ye will not understand! 

O hope of all most undeserved! 



Pigeons of St. Mark's 



E*en as I cried for help the help was near. 

Behold an isle most glorious, fair and lovely 

With a beauty far beyond aught I had dreamed 

of or desired. 
And in the peace and glory of that isle 
There walked all spirits beautified and clean. 
In whom no guile was found nor sin. 
Through Jesus Christ and his pure blood. 
And blindness, blindness, most incarnate blind. 
To be so near and not to see. 
O ever looking down how could I think 
To find a rest or peace or love 
To fill my soul? Fll hie me to that isle 
And not stand here forever lone 
Because I lack the courage or the will. 

And there I woke. But still that isle 

Shines clearly in my vision up above. 

And when I look upon its light 

A great peace fills my soul and a great love. 

So ever looking upward now 

ril keep this goal in view until the time 

When I shall join those spirits that I saw. 



10 Pigeons of St Mark's 



THE BIRTH OF THE SOUL 

A MAN I knew who had seen God ; 
*^ He made me see him too. 
A man I knew who walked where angels trod ; 
With him I walked there too. 
A man I knew to whom Christ spoke; our Lord 
Spoke to me too. 

And when he went away they died ; 
And I died too. 

Dull, deep emptiness. Dim despair. 

A weight as of a world in chains. 

Manacled and prisoned. Death 

Half conscious of itself. Inane futility. 

Infinite incompetence, and fear 

Of slipping further in this slough 

Of creeping, crawling thoughts. Shuddering 

I cried, **0 God ! So be it." 

Clarion like the call ! I stirred and turned 

Once in those mighty arms 

Where all unknowing I had lain, . • 

Bathed in a sea of peace. 

The radiant morning glow 



Pigeons of St Mark's 1 1 



Of the new day lighted my will. 

I raised my head 

And looked straight in God*s eyes. 

Then, laughing, rose and spread my wings 

And leaped into the air. 

**Wake man,** I cried, "God smiles." 



12 Pigeons of St. Mar}{s 



TO CAPITAL 

1 SAW a mountain lion behind bars, 

* Small bodied, lithe. Chin high he stood and 

scorned. 
Not knowing his disgrace. 
Or drowsed with head on paw. 

I turned toward home and strolled through groves 

and fields. 
Five deer were straying in a meadow green 
Nibbling the grass. Kind eyed 
And beautiful they were. 

"These five and thirty more a lion needs 
Each year to keep alive," a woodsman said. 
*'He does not need so much 
But likes fresh food. 

"The government values the deer and thinks 
The lion's cost too high. A hunter roams 
The mountains, paid to kill 
The whole infesting breed." 

"But could the lions not be tamed," I asked, 
"And taught to eat green food like other beasts?^ 
"I fear me not," he said. 
"For me," I said, "I hope." 



Pigeons of St Mark's 13 



TO LABOR 



^X7E are disappointed in you, brothers. 
^^ You had your chance. 
You are no better than those others 
In your Wind trance. 

Our nation's future hope is in the middle — - 
Sane men between; 
The solution of our social riddle — 
Mind, not spleen. 

For what we need is thinking men not grafters- 
Men of good will. 

Strong houses are not built on rotten rafters. 
Sam pays the bill. 

Your intermittent fights which keep u$ quaking 
Are too high priced. 

A social mind quite new is in the makmg — 
The mind of Christ. 



SONGS OF THE UNCHURCHED 



Songs of the Unchurched 1 7 



SONG OF THE UNEMPLOYED 

\liT E were outcasts and you brought us home, 
^^ Not ahens but friends to your hearth. 
Weeds, you planted us in the rich loam 
Of St. Mark's Garth. 
Love warmed, faith watered, fast we grew 
Under the gardener's pruning hand. 
Propped in our weakness till he knew 
That we could stand. 

So it's out and away in the morning gray. 
There's work and a home for the best of us. 
In the dawn of hope we will climb life's slope — 
There are gardens still for the rest of us. 



RESPONSE BY THE ANGEL OF THE CHURCH 

Outcasts and we brought you home? Those were 

our Master's orders. 
So shall he hear us when we call. 
We would be a fertile, watered garden in whose 

borders 
The waters never fall. (Isaiah 58.) 



18 Songs of the Unchurched 



SONG OF THE BUSINESS MEN 



HP HIS world is ours. We know no other. 
^ Ours is today. 

We are the keepers of our brother 
Be who he may. 

We see that poets starve without us. 

That artists fail. 
We see them dying all about us. 

Of what avail? 

If life must have two wings to fly by. 
Let us be one. 

Enough if we have priests to die by 
When life is done. 



RESPONSE BY THE ANGEL OF THE CHURCH 

Already you are one wing — you point in one 

direction — 
And steady birds need two. 
Art is life's light and crown. Seize and act on thi? 

reflection 
If you would journey true. 



Songs of the Unchurched 19 



SONG OF THE INTELLECTUALS 

YOU unchurched us when you were untrue to 
truth. 
We stand for the mind of man. 
Science has proved what is our due to truth 
Since scholarship began. 

Man's mind has done so much, can still do more. 
We stand for the open door. 



RESPONSE BY THE ANGEL OF THE CHURCH 

Truth — yes, but what is truth? Your professors 

can not find it 
In their academic youth. 
Their logics end in contradiction; 
Their explanations jump affliction. 
Life is our teacher and in the silences behind it 
We hear the voice of truth. 



20 Songs of the Unchurched 



SONG OF THE HEATHEN 



VrOU thought God had forgotten us 
* And left us out in the cold. 
You thought Christ was your shepherd. 
And we were not of his fold. 

If you'll face our great religions 
With clear, unbiased view 
You'll say, "One flock, one shepherd 
For the heathen have got it too." 



RESPONSE BY THE ANGEL OF THE CHURCH 

Other sheep He has who are not of this fold — 

Them also will He bring. 

There shall be one fold and one shepherd. 



Songs of the Unchurched 2! 



SONG OF THE ACTORS 

"VrOU came not to our church; 
* We would not go to yours. 
We did not Hke your church ; 
You did not know of ours. 
And so you judged us hardly. 
Not knowing our intent, 
And we too judged you hardly 
For what we thought you meant. 

We speak of life as it is, you know. 

And life is realistic. 

If you say we're fast, why we think you're slow 

And unduly optimistic. 

But we're all athirst for the truth to ^how 

What we mean by realistic. 



RESPONSE BY THE ANGEL OF THE CHURCH 

You mean by realistic not the shifting beads of fact; 

Rather the cord which makes the chain. 

True plays are bound together scene by scene and 

act by act : 
Many carriages — one train. 



22 Songs of the Unchurched 



SONG OF THE PAINTERS 

IN the folds of his garment we gHmpsed Him in 
* its shinmier of sunhght and shade. 
Evanescent, retreating, illusive like the whisper of 

secrets half heard. 
Earth-clad and girdled with waters, tiared in the 

eyes of a maid. 
And warbling with gladness transcendent in the full 

throated joy of a bird. 

But the pastors and priests were against us. They 
wanted a portrait more clear. 

They said it was sacrilege utter to speak of the cloth- 
ing of God. 

They tried to portray and describe Him in the lan- 
guage of logic and fear — 

A garment, though strait and confining, as impover- 
ished souls can afford. 

But to you who have learned of the richness and 

manifold meaning of life 
We offer our whispering Godhead, the far reaching 

truth of the soul. 
Let partitioning mental profesosrs sn on with discus- 

'''^n and strife; 



Songs of the Unchurched 23 



We cling to our whispers and glimpses, as fragments 
which point to a whole. 



RESPONSE BY THE ANGEL OF THE CHURCH 

To compile the Book of Life God needs just such 

recorders'— 
Men who can hear his faintest call. 
You will be a fertile, watered garden in whose 

borders 
The waters never fall. 



24 Songs of the Unchurched 



SONG OF THE SCULPTORS 



WE have wrestled with the granite, we have 
chiseled, we have hewed. 
We have thought great thoughts and uttered them 

in stone. 
We have heard God's giant Httle voice, his marble 

vision viewed 
And weVe caught the captive spirit's answering 
moan. 

But as yet we have not freed her from her dungeon 

in the rock. 
We must nobly live if nobly we'd create. 
And our shepherds who should help us say we are 

not of their flock — 
That our vision is but scrawlings on a slate. 

We were strangers and you welcomed us, you spoke 

our language too. 
Our vernacular we knew you'd understand : 
For the captive we had visioned had showed herself 

to you. 
So we give ourselves to God in your command. 



Songs of the Unchurched 25 



RESPONSE BY THE ANGEL OF THE CHURCH 

Not Strangers, brothers-in-arms, let the Ideal lead 

us forward 
To the Lake of No More Thirst. 
Till the ripples which run from the troubled centre 

shoreward 
In that centre are immersed. 



26 Songs of the Unchurched 



SONG OF THE MUSICIANS 

IF you've sensed the still sea lapping 

* On a smooth beach. 

If you've heard white gull wings flapping 

Just out of reach. 

If you've felt musicians playing 

Behind the notes 

And known they were really praying 

With wordless throats. 

You will know what we mean by saying 

That music is God's prayer-speech. 



RESPONSE BY THE ANGEL OF THE CHURCH 

Art is God's vernacular and beauty bears His 

orders. 
Aspiration is our call. 

We can be a fertile, watered garden in whose borders 
The waters never fall. 



Songs of the Unchurched 27 



SONG OF THE POETS 

DEEP within a mountain fastness, 
Where no man has trod. 
Lies a lake, enclosed in vastness. 
Like a thought of God. 
From its bosom clear, pellucid, 
Flows a mighty stream ; 
Sings in rhythms flaming, lucid, 
God's procreant dream. 

"Roaring, surging, leaping, swirling, 

Bursting into foam. 

Over flat rock surface whirling 

To my valley home ; 

Bounding over boulders massive 

Into olive pools. 

Falling chasms down, impassive. 

Shattering all rules. 

Waterfall of inspiration 
From the mountain crest. 
Dealing death, source of creation. 
Earth-food from God*s breast. 
Heaven sent. Oh valley dwellers, 
Spurn me and you die= 



28 Songs of the Unchurched 



Spirits poisoned by best-sellers 
Unto heaven cry. 

Drive your mills by eagle powder. 

Eagles lose their wrings ; 

Whitest cleanest meadow flour 

Sullies mountain springs. 

As youVe failed to see my banner 

So you've strayed unled ; 

As youVe scorned celestial manna 

So youVe starved unfed." 

Lo ! the flood from heaven falling 
Bringing heaven down, 
Beckoning, pleading, coaxing, calling 
To the valley town. 
"Scale the cliffs of intuition; 
Purge the mountain stream. 
Cast the shackles of tradition. 
Dare to dream God*s dream.** 



RESPONSE BY THE ANGEL OF THE CHURCH 

We are strangers, will you bring us home. Those 
are your Master's orders. 

So shall He hear you when you call. 

You will be a fertile, watered garden in whose bor- 
ders 

The waters never fall 



Songs of the Unchurched 29 



SONG OF THE BLESSED DEAD 



\X7E'VE been knocking at your doors 
^^ Many years. 

In your little narrow rooms, from the floors 
You have scarcely raised your eyes for a peep out 
at the skies. 
Blurred by tears. 

Raise your latches, lift your eyes. 

And anon 
Smiles shall take the place of sighs. 
Put your lamps out. Let the Night lead you with her 

lanterns bright 

Out and on. 



RESPONSE BY THE ANGEL OF THE CHURCH 

Dead and alive let each his God inspired message 

give; 
We bind them in one sheaf. 
So shall we save that wheat of truth by which all 

spirits live — 
The fruit within the leaf. 



CLIPPINGS FROM THE GARTH OF 
ST. MARK'S 



cuppings from the Carth 33 



THE GARTH 

A TANGLE of quaint flowers borders the street 
^^ And the straight centre path — soft-scented, rare 
Or strong with pungent odors. Maiden-hair 
And crocuses and phlox and bitter-sweet. 
The children of all climes and seasons meet 
And interchange their fragrance in the air. 
As from a broidered cushion soars a prayer. 
So stands a row of poplars with their feet 
Slippered in nosegays and their steepled tops 
Speaking to heaven. Strong and lean and straight — 
The spirit's pioneers and virtue's props — 
They mark the path from the walled entrance gate 
To the clear fountain where the great dog roams 
And, growling, drives the weaklings to their homes. 



34 cuppings from the Garth 



THE GARDEN WALL 

T^HE garden wall is made by those outside 
* Who dignify themselves by building jails 
Where they may dwell select. So man entails 
His genius to the uses of his pride. 
To such the fruits of genius are denied. 
E*en so those bricks of prejudice are frail 
Protection to caste-weaklings, but avail 
To fence this bower from the floricide. 

Let stand the wall and may he pass who can. 
Soft vines about it climb and droop. The gate 
Is open wide for all who humbly wait 
And sweetly, patiently seek entrance there. 
Garlanded graciousness courts every man. 
Life's rambling roads approach from everywhere. 



cuppings from the Carth 33 



PURPLE IRIS 

SHE stands a purple iris in the green 
Of high traditions. Little deeds of grace 
Stream past her either way, and o*er her face 
Is spread the ripening summer's mellow sheen — 
The prismed aureole of what has been : 
Perennial flora of a noble race! 
In heaven's seedling plot she has her place : 
God's babe she is who might have been man's queen. 
Patrician dignity in service meek 
That overturns the world, makes high things low. 
Low high ! So first and last each other seek. 
In dirt and dung all radiant flowers grow. 
If Earth to crown her travail Heaven needs. 
Heaven needs our Earth to bear his little seeds. 



36 Clippings from the Carth 



BITTER-SWEET 

HIGH nested in the tree-tops, where on wingi 
Of many birds your throbbing maiden song 
Leaps wordless to the sky! O artist strong 
And masterful, such fate-enraptured strings 
Are wont to tear their hearts out. Ocean flings 
Its treasures wildly on the sand along 
A firmly beaten beach : each wave, a prong 
Of Neptune's trident, cosmic purpose sings. 
So lady of the tree-tops, bitter-sweet. 
Strong-frail, cool-passionate, proud-meek, you are 
A necklace of sharp contrasts. Oddly-neat 
You cling about the neck of life till far 
She thrusts you from her. Then you stand 
A rock of fortitude in a green land. 



cuppings from the Garth 37 



FLOWERING EUCALYPTUS 

THOU woman of the untamed pagan heart 
And mystic sight, in whom the Jew and Greek 
Are bound relentlessly in love, I seek 
To know thy secret, thine inspired art. 

We see thee fair : thou in thy native part 

Of beauty dost reign all supreme, but meek. 
Steadfastly good, walled fortress of the weak, 

We see thee shame thyself in higher part. 
Thy soul is like a precious fabric, wrought 
With all the skill of ages that compete 
For prize of perfectness — I have seen naught 

To rival it — a peerless jewel meet - 
For angels* wonder and men's love, self-taught 

To answer those who sit about thy feet. 



38 Clippings from the Garth 



THE MONTEREY CYPRESS 

¥ AM the indomitable one, supreme 
* Above disaster. Blow on blow may fall, 
I stand erect, head high, eyes clear, and call 
On God whose child I am to prove the dream 
Of man's divinity. Through me a stream 
Whose source is in His heart flows down to all 
Who will receive it. Let Him pour out gall, 
ril drain nor hold such fealty extreme. 

But O, if you had known that man you'd see 
The love I bore him could not have been less. 
He overpassed all merit, and to me 
Embodied faith triumphant through the stress 
Of failing fortunes — so the royal fee 
I ask of life is blessing — and to bless. 



Clippings from the Garth 39 



THE WATERING POT 

T^HE Buddha stops to tea with anecdotes 
* And songs and boudoir tales. The ladies shout 
With glee. The children hold his hands and pout 
If others are preferred. The Buddha quotes 
From Laotze, from Plotinus and the notes 
In Emerson's great Journal. Flowers sprout 
In every fertile spirit. Fountains spout. 
The sun upon the budding landscape gloats. 

Sweet melodies sing in my inner ear. 
The voice of God behind the veil of words 
Though still and small makes all his meanings clear. 
His plan hides in the warbling of young birds. 

Buddha and ladies build a world foundation — 
Music for all and peace for every nation. 



40 Clippings from the Garth 



AMERICAN BEAUTY ROSE 

T^HEY tell me she is dead and look for tears, 
* Or speak of hope with hesitating lips. 
My mind rejects their fact; my spirit grips 
The life beneath all death and calmly peers 
Into the veiled abyss. My sharpened ears. 
Intent, hear voices. Broken meanings, quips 
And trivial facts converge. Thus science strips 
The mask off Death — souls cradled in their biers. 

O tallest, fairest, sweetest, reddest rose! 
Though just outside our garden wall you grew. 
No barrier your fragrance ever knew. 
Your heart prevailed all gardens to enclose. 
So stay with us and still your fragrance shed. 
We'll sense your presence, sweeter being dead. 



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